


Dirk Gets Johned

by taciturntestament



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crying, Dildos, Earth C, Emotions, Emotions all over, First Time, Fluff, God Tier Abilities, Godbod shenanigans, Just Heart Aspect Things, Let me know if you need anything else tagged, M/M, Mushy, Post-Game, Praise, Sex, Trans Character(s), Trans Male Character, Trans dudes having fun times in the bedroom, Vaginal Sex, based off a comic i saw forever ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taciturntestament/pseuds/taciturntestament
Summary: Dirk and John have their first time together. Dirk has anxiety. John also has anxiety. Dirk's Heart abilities demand to be known.
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Dirk Gets Johned

**Author's Note:**

> I basically just kinda woke up one morning and shit this out on the spot like the spirit of "trans guys having good feelsy sexy times" had possessed me, soooo... take that how you will. Also, this is my first time posting anything with smut on here, so don't be afraid to make tagging recommendations, and feel free to leave kudos or comments! Thanks!

“Still okay?” John asks, and if he wasn’t such an easy scapegoat for your impatience, you would melt, get all moony over him caring so much that he keeps asking the same question. 

“ _Yes_ , dude, for fuck’s sake,” you answer, and it doesn’t come out nearly as clear or biting as you intend it to. With a whole ass person on top of you and his fingers busy steadily introducing themselves to your aptly named ‘manhole,’ it’s harder to do that, to get your words out in a way that aligns with how you’re feeling or, perhaps more fittingly, how you want people to think you’re feeling. The message still gets across loud and clear to John though. 

“ _Okay_ , okay! Just checking. I don’t wanna fuck up or make you feel… you know. _Bad_.” And that’s where your heart caves a little, and you reach up, loop your arm around his shoulders so you can pull him down to kiss you. Partly because you just _want_ to, and also because he can’t see your face well when it’s pressed right up against his. 

Actively and physically being cared about is a concept both familiar and foreign to you. It’s not like you never experienced it prior to the game, but as a teenager living in the middle of the ocean, such gestures came from either thousands of miles away or from a whole reality over. There was a certain… disconnect in them, even if they felt genuine, and they left that lonely, dismal part of you craving for more. That part of you was satisfied somewhat more when you entered your session, but not like this. Right now, you have time to really indulge in it, to let it sink in without worrying about what’s coming next. You were always quick witted enough to handle the constant speed of the game and what it threw at you, but that left moments like these rather fleeting, forced you to occupy your mind with more pressing matters. 

Of course, when you’re _you_ and you actually have time to really _feel_ about these matters, you tend to ruin them for yourself, and that’s what you’re doing now. It’s clear as day by the way that the tension John painstakingly eased away earlier slowly creeps back into your body, and he pulls back when he realizes it, looks at you with a crease between his brows. At this rate, you’re gonna make him get premature wrinkles. 

“Is something wrong?” he asks. “If you’re not… If you aren’t comfortable, we can stop. I’m not, like—I mean, I _do_ really want you right now, like _insanely_ , but we can wait a little longer. Or just… never do it at all! I’m super okay and cool with whatever, so…”

Guilt leaves a bitter, bitter taste on your tongue. You wish you didn’t always fuck things up like this, because here you are, thinking for the thousandth time that you don’t deserve him. And you don’t. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t deserve you. Jake didn’t either. You have a way of ruining the happiness of those you’re romantic with, a fact that you are more than acquainted with by this point, and you don’t want to do that to John. You don’t want to break his smile—the real one, not the one he puts on for show—but you _know_ you already are, and by the time he’s done with you, he’ll be miserable. 

You’re ruining this too, taking the whole moment and crushing it between your hands, making it all about you. You wonder if this type of behavior is directly linked to your title as a Prince of Heart, but you assure yourself that regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the game’s presence as a force in your life, you’d still be like this. 

John is looking very concerned now, and he’s pulled his hand back from between your legs—god _damn_ it—so he can hold you instead. 

“Hey,” he says, so softly it hurts. He’s got his fingers combing through your hair. “Talk to me. Please?”

Being open is a struggle. You still try. For him. It’s the least you can do. 

“‘S nothing,” you start, because it is, but he doesn’t look remotely pleased with that answer, so you push on. You’re fidgeting with the bedsheets. “It’s my usual brand of bullshit, is all. Apparently I can’t avoid tripping and falling over my own thoughts even when we’re doing _this_. But it’s nothing out of the norm. We can keep going. I _want_ to keep going.If I haven’t up and shot the moment in the dick for you.”

John brushes your bangs back from your forehead and frowns. Not like he’s disappointed, but like he’s thinking. He does that a lot. 

“Whatever you’re telling yourself in that head of yours, I’m pretty sure it’s really dumb,” he says. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere and I don’t, like, secretly hate you or whatever it is you’re thinking. I’m doing this because I want to be with you, and I want you. A lot. Can you trust me on that?”

You swallow and nod before you even register that you’re doing it. “Yes. Yeah. I’m just… you know.”

“I know. But this is supposed to be something good for both of us, okay? I don’t want you spiraling and hating yourself the whole time. So if you… aren’t up to it, we can stop. I’m probably gonna fumble the whole time anyway, heh, so it’s okay. I can wait, and we can do something else to take your mind off of things. If you want.”

You pause. He wants this to be special, of course he doesn’t want you digging your way into a self-loathing episode in the background. And he’s offering to stop. To deal with your brain and distract it in another way and to move your first time together to a later date. 

Your first instinct is to dive back into dwelling on how you don’t deserve his kindness, but you push that aside, press it down deep where it can’t bother you _too_ much. You do want this. You want him now, not later. Too bad it’s hard to get the words out. 

“I want,” you start, and you pause, chewing on your lip as you attempt to string together a coherent sentence, “I want this. I do. I can… focus on this instead. I promise.” 

John still looks unsure, but he nods, then dips his head down to let your lips brush against each other. “Alright. But if you change your mind, let me know, please?” 

“I will,” you assure him, and he kisses you. 

It’s steady and slow from this point on, and while you’re still eager to push things along and get to the end goal of it all, you chill yourself out and savor it. You don’t just care about getting to cum, you care about him, and you care about every little kiss and touch he gives you. When his fingers return to their place between your legs, it’s _good_ , but what’s almost even better is listening to him speak, feeling every tender gesture he plants on your skin. 

“I love you,” he says, numerous times. “You’re so _good_. I love you so much.” 

He makes your chest ache. 

He struggles with getting the harness secured around his hips, so you sit up and help him, letting your fingers linger against the straps. You tried to do this with your roles reversed earlier, but your hands were too jittery and your movements too fast, and John wasn’t content with staying still when he needed to. You wouldn’t mind trying that again, but it can wait until later.

He kisses you as he lubes the dildo up (fairly average in size—he insisted that the horse cock was too much too soon) and he goes through the work of making sure you’re lubed up as well. Kind of redundant considering you’re wetter than you’ve ever been in your life, but you appreciate it nonetheless. 

Just as he positions himself at your entrance, he pauses, brows pinched together, and you know what he’s going to ask before it leaves his mouth. 

“This is… okay, yeah? You still want this?” 

You nearly swear at him. Instead, you take his hand and squeeze it. If you’re having shitty intrusive thoughts, he probably is too. Brains are assholes. 

“Promise. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, bro,” you say. 

John nods after a few seconds, squeezes your hand back, and slowly, _slowly_ starts to push in. The initial stretch of it burns just slightly, but you can take it—you’ve had a lot of time to experiment, you know your limits—and it gradually eases away until you no longer notice it. John takes his sweet time, checking over and over that you’re okay, and pauses once he’s finally buried to the hilt. Oh, fuck that noise. 

“John,” you say. “John, I swear to god, I can take it, _move_ —”

And he moves, starting with slow, gentle thrusts, and whatever words you had on the tip of your tongue are replaced with a low groan. 

You’re no fucking pillow prince, so as he begins picking up the pace, you use your free hand to grip his hair and pull yourself up to lick, bite, and suck at his neck. He moans and wraps an arm around you, then he shifts to kiss you instead. 

He’s breathless, panting against your lips as he fucks you, and all you can think about is how much you love him. You still have his hand in yours, and you’re gripping it tight, arching your back with his movements and moving your hips to drive him deeper, harder. There’s a warm feeling building in your chest, so warm it almost burns, and as it reaches a heat that you _know_ is not normal, it launches off, shooting through your body and to John through every part of you touching him. 

He gasps and stutters to a stop, hunches over you, and your heart is pounding in your chest as you’re torn between checking if he’s okay and scrambling away so that you don’t hurt him again. Because that’s all you do, that’s all you’re good for— hurt hurt hurt _hurt and_ —

John looks at you with tears in his eyes, but his expression doesn’t look pained. Instead, he looks… _happy_ , and suddenly he’s cupping your cheeks and kissing your face all over, and you can hear him _laughing_ too. It’s carefree and sweet, and you would linger in the moment if you weren’t confused and worried to the bone. 

“John—” you say, but it’s hard to get a word in when he seems determined to kiss it away. “John. _John_. Are you—Are you okay? Whatever that was, I—”

“I love you too, I love you _so much_ , oh my god,” he says in a rush, pressing his forehead against yours. “You made me _feel_ it. Like, _physically_ , holy _fuck_.” 

“Huh?” you ask, but he’s holding you close and kissing you, and you can feel that warmth radiating from you again. John presses his hand against your chest, right over where your heart is, and you feel it grow stronger, like it’s coming from him too. 

It hits you _hard_ , but it isn’t painful. It’s the complete opposite, leaving you giddy with your heart swelling and aching inside of your chest. You can feel every one of John’s emotions through his touch, and it’s so warm and so much at once that you can barely make sense of it. He loves you. He _really_ loves you, and while you’ve never doubted him on that, it’s enough to shut the crueler section of your mind up, and while the force of it is hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs, just holding him keeps you breathing. 

“I love you too, John, _fuck_ ,” you sob. You have tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re laughing and rambling and clinging to him, and through the fog of it all, you’ve never been quite so horny in your life. 

“Can we keep—I still want to…” Your voice trails off, but he understands—fuck, he can probably feel it too—and he kisses you deep and hard as his hips start moving again. 

You wish he could feel it as he thrusts into you, but he’s moaning just like you are, so you think the friction of it is enough. Or he can somehow feel it _through_ you, you’re not sure. All you know is that you’re caught in a feedback loop of love and heat and it feels completely and utterly amazing. He somehow has the brainpower to touch you at the same time, and you feel something electric spark through you at every point of contact. 

You get your hands on him, moving them up his sides and over the scars on his chest until you’re digging your nails into his shoulders. His skin is soft, pleasant to the touch, but it’s deceiving. You know he can swing a sledgehammer without breaking a sweat if he wants to, and that’s made more evident by the fact that there’s a firmness to his muscles if you actually take the time to press down and get a sense of them. 

You’re getting close. You drop one of your hands so that you can rub at your dick instead, far too eager and lost in the feeling to give a shit about being slow or careful. Your abdomen is tensed up, and he’s upping his pace and tucking his face against your cheek as your climax hits you. 

It’s difficult to tell through the haze, but his orgasm follows soon after, and he’s holding you tightly and moaning your name when it happens. 

Your limbs are shaking when you come back down, which makes it hard to help undo the straps of the harness after John pulls out, but the both of you manage. There are indentations left behind on John’s hips, and you stroke your fingers over them while you pull him down to lay with you. 

He’s as much of a mess as you are, but he’s a happy one. You kiss his temple and nuzzle against his cheek. 

“Love you,” you mumble. 

“Mmm,” he hums. “I love you too. That was so _good_. You were so good, Dirk, god.”

If he keeps it up with the praise, you’re gonna end up crying again. 

“C’mon, you were a thousand times better, I’m sure,” you murmur. He nudges you in the side. “I’m sorry about… whatever happened there. I didn’t mean to.”

“Dude, shut up. It felt nice.” He lifts his head so he can peck your cheek. He’s running his fingers through your hair, but there’s a weight to them, like they’re tired. “Best nut I’ve ever busted, and whatever you did, it was nice. _Super_ nice.” 

“But—”

“Shhh. Shush. Just let me hold you for now.” John pats your head. You laugh. “You’re perfect.”

Your throat is tight. Your vision is clouded with tears. 

“You’re perfect too,” you choke out, and you feel him smile against your skin.


End file.
